


Road Trip

by Severina



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 10:46:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has been saying things grumpily for the better part of an hour.  In fact, "grumpy" could probably be the watch-word for this entire ill-conceived endeavor.  What on earth was he thinking when he agreed to this madness?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Road Trip

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's smallfandomfest, for the prompt "vacation"
> 
> * * *

"Just stop and ask for directions."

"I don't need directions," John says grumpily.

Matt slumps back into the passenger seat, swipes a hand through his hair and watches the scenery zoom by. John has been saying things grumpily for the better part of an hour. In fact, "grumpy" could probably be the watch-word for this entire ill-conceived endeavor. What on earth was he thinking when he agreed to this madness?

On reflection, he chalks it up to the fact that John was naked when they discussed it. Naked, and still covered with a fine sheen of sweat from the exertions that they'd gotten up to in the previous hour. And honestly, how could Matt be expected to think rationally when his lips were still bruised and his heart was still beating double-time and John was looking at him like that? When John hovered over him and suggested a road trip, Matt pictured a relaxing get-away to the Shore, lounging on the beach in a very tempting possibly-too-small speedo and teasing John until they finally had to race back to the hotel and fuck their brains out. 

He certainly didn't picture a plane ride followed by the rental of an economy sub-compact with insufficient leg room and a faulty a/c followed by an endless drive through the middle of nowhere looking for some cheesy tourist trap.

At least nobody was throwing cars at them.

Yet.

Matt sits up a little straighter when the seemingly never-ending swaying stalks of wheat that have been his only view for the past fifty-two minutes – but who's counting – is broken by the sight of the winking neon side ahead. He turns to John. "Look. Gas station."

"We don't need gas," John mutters.

"You could pull in for—"

"I don't need directions."

"Okay, but we could stop for a soda, I could really use a—"

"No."

"It's been eight hours since I've had a Red Bull, John! Do you know what it does to a person's system when you cut them off like that? They go into shock, okay, I'm not lying here, this is medical fact. I'm probably going to get the shakes—"

"We're not stopping."

"Maybe you don't need directions," Matt says, "but if you did, you should know that it doesn't impinge on your manhood in any way, shape or—"

"Impinge on my manhood?" John repeats. 

Matt looks over in time to see John's eyebrow climb up his forehead… just as they fly past the gas station. He successfully resists the urge to throw up his hands. But just barely.

"At least," he tries when they've put another mile on the odometer with no end in sight, "let me hold the map."

John's fingers curl possessively over the map in his right hand, the edges of the paper crinkling against the steering wheel. "I'm fine," he grunts out.

"It's dangerous."

"I've been driving since before you were born, kid," John says. He shakes his head. "And there's a scary fucking thought. I've been through a dozen road trips with Holly and the kids. I think I know how to read a map and still keep an eye on the road."

After all the ridiculous Mario Andretti bullshit that John pulled on that crazy 4th, the last thing Matt knows he should be worried about is the guy's driving. Yet now that he's started thinking about how unsafe it is, he can't stop thinking about it. Every time the wind flaps against the unfolded map, he cringes. Every time John's attention drifts from the blacktop to scan the map for hints to their next exit, he pictures the vehicle skidding off the road and ending up buried nose-deep in wheat.

"Seriously, John. Give me the map."

"I got it," John grits out.

"You're a great driver, John. An excellent driver—"

"Yeah, thanks for noticing."

"—but anything could happen! An animal could dart out of the field and then you'd swerve to avoid it because you're a giant softie—"

"An animal's not gonna dart out of—"

"Or a bird! A bird could fly into the windshield while you're not looking and—"

"Jeeeeezus, kid."

"Or a terrorist! We don't even know if Gabriel had any other flunkies, and God knows what the Grubers are doing, and you're probably on like seventeen hit lists!"

"Kid," John says. "Relax."

Matt tenses instead, worries his bottom lip. The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that their biggest worry on this road trip should totally be a terrorist. There's already been a precedent set between him and John and exploding cars, after all. He leans forward, scans the sky for helicopters or any other kind of airborne vehicle. Because you just never know. 

And if a paragliding assassin suddenly appears out of nowhere – or a squirrel or a pigeon, for that matter – John should have his full attention on the road, not find himself diverted by a map clutched in one beefy fist and flapping in the breeze.

He makes a sudden decision, lunges across the seat. "Give me the map!"

"What the fuck!" John yells. 

Matt gets a glimpse of John's eyes widening in surprise just before John crumples the map tighter in his fist, but Matt can be determined when he wants to be. He manages to get hold of an edge anyway, and yanks. In a normal situation John would win this tug of war hands down, but struggling to hold on to a wrinkled piece of paper while maneuvering a two-ton vehicle down a two-lane roadway puts him at a disadvantage. Matt feels the paper rip free of John's grip, and lifts his arms to crow victory for himself and skinny nerdy geeks all over the world.

Which is when an errant breeze from the open window snatches the map out of his hands and sends it swirling into the wheat field and out of sight.

The car stops in the middle of the blacktop in a squeal of tires.

"Oops," Matt says.

* * *

"Are you serious right now?" John says when he's done pacing. "Tell me you're not serious right now!"

Matt slumps against the side of the car. "I said I was sorry!"

"Sorry? You just lost our damn map!"

"Well if you'd given it to me like I asked," Matt mumbles, stops short when John glares at him.

"Jesus. That's what this was all about, wasn't it? You did that on purpose so we'd have to stop for goddamn directions!"

"What? No!" Matt protests. He stands up straighter, points a finger at John's chest. "I did that because I didn't want to end up so much roadkill for Farmer Bob to discover the next time he comes down this road, which judging by the amount of traffic we've seen would probably be sometime next century! I did that because I didn't want to see your head smash through the windshield when you swerve to avoid a stupid rabbit that you didn't see in time because you were too busy looking at the damn map!"

John keeps up the glare for a good thirty seconds, but Matt's been living with him for eight months now and you don't last that long with John McClane by backing down. He also knows better than to mention his other concerns, like skydiving terrorists. Before a minute is up John drops his gaze, shuffles across the concrete to slump against the car at Matt's side, side-glance him sheepishly. 

"Farmer Bob, huh?" John says. "Is he wearing denim overalls?"

"And a straw hat," Matt says. He lets himself ease down, leans his ass on the warm car. 

For a moment Matt just stares at the waving wheat – and makes a promise to himself never to eat Wheaties again, no lie – before John nudges him with a shoulder and he turns to look at him instead.

"I'm not used to giving up control, kid."

"Gee, ya think?" Matt says. 

John nudges him again. "All right, smartass."

"I get that you've got years of experience on me, John, I do. But sometimes – just a tiny newsflash here, John? Sometimes… you're actually wrong. And you've gotta listen to me."

"Duly noted."

Matt sighs, leans against John's shoulder. "I'm sorry I lost the map."

"I'm sorry I yelled at ya, kid."

When John's lips brush against his hair, Matt smiles. Then John is pushing away from the car, and Matt is thankful that those sessions that John insists he take at the gym have improved his reaction times, because he's able to snag the keys John tosses with a minimum of flailing. 

"You wanna drive us back to that gas station?" John asks, already heading around to the passenger seat. "I could use a break."

"Sure, John," Matt says. "Absolutely."

* * *

Matt keeps the photo of him and John grinning dorkily in front of the World's Largest Ball of Twine taped proudly to his computer. 


End file.
